


God Save the Queen

by arcaneGash



Category: Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door, Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, OC heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneGash/pseuds/arcaneGash
Summary: The story of the thousand-year-old calamity and its legion of demonspawn servants.Unofficially part of But the Stars Bring Balance





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was intended to be a oneshot but, naturally, it got way the fuck away from me so now it's its own standalone thing. 
> 
> anyway i've wanted to detail my version of the ttyd lore for forever and here it is. a little bit of backstory re: the shadow queen, cerin the first, and the other shadow sirens. this was something i immensely enjoyed working on so i hope you have fun as well

The underground cavern’s ceiling was so high it couldn’t be seen, swallowed up by darkness before the stalactites could come into view. Here the fallen city was perfectly preserved—the Queen made it so. Outside this cavern, outside the Palace, the remnants of the city were strewn about like so much refuse, cast aside and made to rot. But not here. Here was nothing but beauty, what the Queen chose to be beautiful and worth keeping.

The tower that overlooked the gardens was itself made of cool gray and blue stone, surrounded by a moat of calm water. Statues of stars and planets lined the stone pathway around the moat. Within the tower was a winding staircase, one that led up and up until it felt as if it were situated among the stars themselves. In this top room was the planetarium.

The Queen led her servant up the stairs, holding her hand like a mother would guide her child. The shadowy creature was tiny and slow, clinging to her maker as she taught herself the physics of the purple tether connecting her to the ground. Barely three weeks old, very unsteady, but the Queen knew she was intelligent, and powerful, and most importantly, unerringly loyal. Her patience for the servant was endless. She watched her Shadow Siren with a smile as she finally learned how to maneuver her tether up each step.

The structure in the middle of the room took up most of its space, a cluster of concentric circles overlapping each other at various angles, suspended in midair. The Queen stepped away, hitting a switch hidden in the shadow of a nearby pedestal, and the simulated planets and their orbits began to move, their rotation punctuated by the creaking and groaning of the machinery. Cerin’s mouth fell open as she circled it, and the Queen couldn’t help but smile.

“Our known solar system,” she said to her creation.

“It’s beautiful,” Cerin breathed, her voice pitched high with wonder. “How does it work?”

Such youthful curiosity made the Queen chuckle. “Oh, my adored, this is merely a replication. The real thing is much more complex, and so much more breathtaking. And soon, you will get to see it.”

Cerin’s eyes, which the Queen had designed to be both nocturnal and bewitching, widened through the shock of straight black hair that half covered them. The Queen nodded, watching joy spread over the face of her servant. “Yes. The time fast approaches. You must see the outside world—the surface world. You must understand why I did what I did.”

The Queen limped forward to stand beneath the rotating axes of the planets above. She held one gloved hand, clenched in a fist, in front of her as she spoke. “This knowledge, the understanding of the galaxy’s course…it came from my tribe. My people.”

Cerin was every bit as wide eyed as she had been, now swept up entirely in the Queen’s story.

“They were cowards. They feared the unknown, rather than embrace it. They did what the planets indicated, without ever asking why. Nuance, critical thinking, it was all lost entirely on them…except me.” The shadow she cast on the stone floor before her shuddered, and Cerin’s responded in turn.

“I was the only one who saw through what was, to discover what could be. There was endless potential in what the elders taught us, stretching out in front of me like my very own universe.” She pointed up, to the cycling planets. “But they rejected my vision. They refused to see what I could see…and their ignorance begat fear and hatred. They wanted to hurt me. So I hurt them first, and I fled.”

Cerin nodded along, transfixed. This was not the first time she’d heard this story, but never in so much detail. The Queen continued, “The other people, those who dwell on the surface…they were even worse. Not a one saw what I did. Not a one understood. And they, too, sought to eliminate what they didn’t understand, what made them afraid. Such bliss in ignorance…I took their city, as punishment. It is put to far better use down here than it ever was up there, don’t you agree?”

Cerin nodded vigorously, just as the Queen knew she would.

“The entire world now sees my potential. They have no choice, it is everywhere they look!” She laughed, clapping her hands together. The sound rang out above the groaning mechanics of the solar system. “Finally, they understand my power. Finally, they have a reason to be afraid.” She softened, peering at her servant with a tiredness she dared not demonstrate to anyone else. “But, my dear Cerin…all is not as it seems. To them, I am ageless, untouchable, impervious. My reign will last a thousand years. But the truth is…”

She peeled off the elbow-length glove on her right hand. The white fabric came away to reveal an inhuman purple color developing on her skin, enveloping her arm to the elbow. The same hue as Cerin’s own shadowy flesh.

“The fates themselves are punishing me for daring to push my limits,” the Queen growled. She put the glove back on, the motions of her affected hand slow and clumsy. “This magic that made me who I am—that made _you_ —is destroying this pathetic human body, one cell at a time. I do not know how long I can persist like this. It is why I created you.”

She stepped forward, her limping mostly hidden by her flowing black dress. She stooped down to Cerin’s level, the Shadow Siren still mesmerized. “You will succeed me as the Shadow Queen. Should I pass, should this feeble body waste away with me still trapped inside…you must keep my reign alive. You must remind these miserable surface-dwellers who the power belongs to, who the rightful authority is! As my only creation…that responsibility falls to you alone. It is time you familiarize yourself with everything the surface world has to offer, so you may be prepared to take my place. Do you understand?”

The Shadow Siren gaped for a moment more, but she recovered by nodding and bowing her head. “Yes, Mother, I understand.”

“I am not your mother, Cerin.” The Queen straightened herself up, putting her hands behind her back and giving a disinterested frown to the blue bricks around her. Cerin mimicked her. “Such familial ties are a…regretful holdover from my upbringing among the tribe. But no longer. I am your Queen, and you are my successor. I expect you to act as such.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The Queen’s thin lips pulled into a lopsided smile. “Very good, my adored. Now, prepare for your first excursion outside the Palace. I will be waiting for you at the door.”

“Yes, my Queen!” Visibly brimming with excitement, the young siren scurried off. She vanished down the spiral staircase. The Queen paused, listening for the closing of the tower’s doors, before dragging herself to the pedestal again and shutting off the slow rotation of the suspended planets. The machinery ground to a halt, leaving her in ringing silence.

“My reign will last a thousand years,” she repeated to herself, her voice a murmur so quiet that it did not echo despite the domed ceiling. She drew herself up, ignoring the angry throbbing of her arm and leg, and shuffled down the stairs after her creation.


	2. Chapter 2

Cerin felt the Queen’s emotion before she heard her summons: “Cerin! Come quickly!”

She flung open the doors to the throne room, her magic hot and heavy on her fingers. It was impossible she was being attacked, Cerin herself had been standing guard outside the Queen’s quarters as she always did, but what else could instill such shock in her creator? She felt it like a thorn buried somewhere in her brain, sharp enough to be painful.

Something about the throne room was darker than normal, as if the dim firelight from the torches along the walls was being blotted out. It seemed like the shadows cast by these lights were bending toward the center of the room, toward the Queen as she sat on her throne.

She was breathing harder than she should have had she just been sitting there. But her ghostly pale face showed no strain, other than the gauntness Cerin was used to. Her gloved hands gripped the arms of the throne as if it was the only thing keeping her tied to this plane. Her eyes were sunken, but her blood red pupils glittered with pride.

Directly in front of the throne, on the room’s carpeted floors, was a pool of shadow. Seeing it made Cerin tense for reasons she didn’t consciously understand. It seemed to be rippling, much like the puddles of rainwater she had seen on the surface world not so long ago.

“My Queen, what…?” Cerin began, but the Queen raised her hand and she shut up immediately. Something was shifting within the pool, something shapeless but wriggling, little waves radiating out from the center to the edges. The disturbance continued, the waves rose in height, and a tiny but gnarled black hand reached out toward her.

Cerin nearly jumped back, but she restrained herself and instead watched in petrified silence. She counted five clawed fingers, the whole thing about as big as her palm. More black shadows dripped from it, rolling down the claws and landing soundlessly back into the pool. Then another emerged, stretching far enough out that it connected with the solid floor, the claws digging into the carpet and leaving black stains.

Cerin tore her gaze away from this display to look at the Queen, who in turn was watching her, a sharp-toothed grin splitting her face from ear to ear.

Now something else had risen from the rippling shadows, something round. A head shape, Cerin realized, her mouth going dry. Viscous shadows, as thick and dark as ink, dribbled down what was probably the face. Its eyes opened—two of them, giant blank holes as white as unstained linen, unseeing. The shadows oozed around them. Below, something moved, separating from the rest of the head. A jaw, unhinging to reveal rows of teeth as sharp as knives. From this abyssal mouth came a hiss, gaining volume and pitch until it was a shriek. Cerin ground her teeth, trying and failing to ignore the goosebumps that exploded down her arms.

“Take it,” the Queen said, as nonchalantly as if she had offered her servant a chalice of wine. But it was an order, and only a fool would disobey the Shadow Queen. Cerin reached out to grab the _thing’s_ hands, the same black residue streaming down her white gloves. It was…warm. Like she had picked up a burning candle instead.

She pulled backward. The shadows resisted at first, and the _thing_ gave another piercing cry, but with another tug it came free of the pool, and Cerin found herself cradling it in her arms. It writhed, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough to break her hold. The more it moved, the more the remaining shadows fell away, slipping between Cerin’s fingers and landing on the floor below, only to vanish without a trace. Its skin was lavender underneath.

Cerin again risked a glance toward the Queen, whose wide grin hadn’t faltered. “Cerin, my most trusted…meet the newest generation of Shadow Sirens.”

Cerin gaped. The thing in her arms gradually stopped struggling, and when she looked down she _recognized_ it. Its skin had darkened to the same hue of her own, and its enormous eyes had closed, and there was a fine layer of hair on the top of the head—red like fire. Its fingers had lost their sharpness, now stubbier but much more mobile, and its body ended in the same wispy tether, too short to reach the ground yet and swaying slightly in the air. It was still warm to the touch, in exactly the way a shadow shouldn’t be. Cerin nearly shivered.

“Isn’t she lovely?” the Queen asked, lifting one thin arm to point at the candlelit chandelier above her. “I was inspired.”

“Another like me?” Cerin whispered, still staring at the newcomer that now appeared to slumber in her arms. “But…my Queen, I thought I…”

“I am most impressed with your success as my creation, my dear Cerin,” the Queen replied. “You have far exceeded even my highest expectations. It is because of this excellence that I decided I would try to replicate you.”

Cerin would have dropped the newborn siren on the floor if she wasn’t so paralyzed.

“Having more of you—a variety, even—will strengthen my forces beyond comprehension,” the Queen explained, her teeth flashing. “Imagine it, Cerin: an army of unstoppable Shadow Sirens, venturing out and continuing to conquer the surface world! I will create an empire that stretches to each corner of the earth, one that will reign _forever!”_

Now one bony finger pointed to the creature in Cerin’s arms. “While your magic mimics my own, I formed that one with fire instead of darkness. We will turn this pathetic earth’s very elements against it. The surface-dwellers simply do not stand a chance.” She cackled to herself, the sound bouncing off the room’s high walls and ceiling.

“My Queen,” Cerin finally said after finding her voice and willing herself not to stutter. “I am, of course, entirely willing to do whatever you require of me, but…I must ask. What is to become of me?”

“You?” the Queen repeated, her eyes narrowing. “Nothing. You are to do as you always do. But I will delegate new responsibilities to you, now that we can expect many, many more new arrivals. You are the only one I trust to deliver them. And there is no one else who can show them how to use their Shadow Siren abilities. I will handle their elemental magic.”

“I understand, my Queen. I am honored to be entrusted with an order of this magnitude.” Cerin dipped her head. Something told her she shouldn’t ask the question that was burning a hole through her tongue…but if she didn’t mention it now, she may never again get the chance. “But it was…also my understanding that I am…your successor. You…you told me so. Is that still…?”

A scowl had formed on the Queen’s face, her pallid skin pulled tight over her cheekbones. She tilted her head, thinking, but it almost looked as if she were listening to something whispering in her ear. Just in case, Cerin strained to hear it, too, but the room was silent aside from the crackling of the fires.

The Queen sat up straight again, her glower even more intense. Cerin knew immediately that she’d made a mistake. “You seem very attached to the idea of inheriting my empire, Cerin. Do I have reason to be concerned?”

“Wh--No! Of course not!” Cerin spluttered, her shadow twitching. “I would never, my Queen, I just—I simply would like to be aware of any changes in our long-term plans—” She stopped herself there, aware how her creator would interpret further protesting.

The Queen looked down her nose at her, but she settled back into her throne, her suspicion passing her over like a cloud in front of the moon. “Very well. If it would put your mind at ease, yes. Should I perish most untimely, it will be your responsibility to continue my conquest in my name. I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

The way she spoke the last sentence was too sharp to be sincere. Cerin’s breaths came shallow, her fingers unintentionally tightening around the yielding body of the young siren she cradled, who squirmed in complaint.

“Do not ever forget where your loyalties lie, Cerin. I gave you all that you are.”

“Yes, my Queen. I am forever grateful for all you have done.”

“Good.” The last of the Queen’s skepticism melted away, the red in her eyes flickering like the flames of the candles along the walls. “Then I will tell you I do not intend to die. This magic has been kind to me, more than I expected when I first began using it. This relationship I share with it…I believe it is sustainable. Perhaps it is even strengthening me…this damned body is what’s holding me back, barring me from my potential.” Her fists clenched, but a moment later she shook her head, as if dismissing these thoughts.

“Your orders, my Queen?” The young siren in Cerin’s arms nuzzled into her chest and she fought the urge to retch.

“Ah. Yes. That one is just the first of many. I will call you when it is time. Until then, take her to safety. Make sure she is well cared for, then return to your post.” The Queen added, as if it were an afterthought, “Her name is Igni. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Clutching the infant siren close to her, Cerin slipped away into the shadows.

No longer _the_ Shadow Siren, but _a_ Shadow Siren. The first of many.


	3. Chapter 3

The documents held no answers. Cerin hadn’t truly been expecting them to be of any help, but the flare of frustration still burned away in her chest as she scowled at the yellowing parchment in her hands. _There is no protocol for this._

No one would ever suspect it, but the central tower in the Palace of Shadow was more than just a trap for potential intruders. Within the walls of select rooms, beyond the tower’s namesake puzzles, was a library, an effective database only made accessible by the Shadow Queen’s own brand of dark magic. She had meticulously recorded nearly every detail she could recall of her peoples’ history, her own background, her conquest. A habit that had started when she first fled her tribe, allegedly. Cerin was the only one besides her able to bypass the magic barrier that sealed these recordings within the walls. She was also supposed to be the only one to know about them, but she was reasonably sure most of the second generation did. Not that it mattered.

She scooped the papers off the floor, the ones she’d discarded as she tore through them, poring over every detail in the vain hope it would give her a clue. She straightened them, using the utmost care. The oldest were over a decade old and it showed in the crinkling that filled the otherwise silent room. Once she figured they were organized and stacked well enough, she placed them back in the narrow hole between two innocuous blue bricks. She palmed one of them, her brow furrowing as her magic reacted with that of the seal. The brick shuddered and expanded a few inches lengthwise until it met its neighbor, closing the hole without a trace.

She walked through the leftmost wall, a magic illusion no more solid than air, as convincingly real as it appeared. The riddle room proper, itself and seven others designed to confuse and ensnare trespassers, had once made her marvel at the Queen’s foresight and cunning. But now she left it behind without a second thought.

She climbed the spiral staircase, her burden seeming to weigh heavier with every step, until she reached the planetarium. Another relic of years past that she had been so enamored with in her youth. Though her fascination had long since faded, this was the only place in the Palace where she could get some peace of mind. Something about the predictable rotation of the planets in their tracks, the white noise of the mechanics, made it possible for her to tune out her thoughts when nothing else helped.

She pressed the hidden switch behind a nearby pedestal and the model awoke. The metal groaned, the circular orbits shuddering as the gears within the floor began to turn for the first time in years. Cerin practically felt the back of her brain light up at the familiar noises and sights. But time had not been kind to the model. The orbits did not spin so much as they lurched, and the machinery whirred louder than she had remembered, as if it were trying to compensate for the stuttering motion. Even the colors had been brighter in her recollection.

But it was better than stewing in her own thoughts, so she leaned against the pedestal and closed her eyes. It was like putting a heavy blanket over the chaos in her mind—all the tumult was still there, still churning, but muffled. Just a little easier to ignore, for the time being. Hoping for more than that was useless.

Time passed without her truly being conscious of it. But she wasn’t far enough gone that she didn’t notice the distinctive sounds of a moving Shadow Siren, somewhere behind her. She straightened up, hitting the switch again. The model came to a slow, grinding halt.

“What are you doing up here?” asked the newcomer. The voice was familiar, and Cerin almost breathed a sigh of relief. Of all the people who could have come to bother her, this was probably the best option.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, keeping her back turned.

“Flora said she saw you come in here some time ago,” the other siren said. Now Cerin tossed her a glance over her shoulder. Terra, thirdborn of the second generation, the militia’s first Shadow Siren with the power to manipulate earth. Compared to all her sisters, she was the most grounded, a voice of reason above the usual second-gen anarchy and drama. Her rich brown ringlets fell perfectly over her eyes, her freckled face betraying no emotion whatsoever.

“Your sister would do well to mind her own business,” Cerin replied, turning to face her.

“She’s not the only one to be surprised you’re not at your post. Don’t jump on me for being curious.” Terra looked around the planetarium as if seeing it for the first time, shaking her head slightly. “This is what you do with your downtime? Sitting up here, by yourself, with a dusty machine that doesn’t do anything?”

“I am under no obligation to explain myself, as this has nothing to do with you or your assignment.” Cerin looked her right where her eyes would be and dragged out the silence. “But if you absolutely must know, I come here to clear my head.”

“You’ve been gone for almost three hours. How much is happening that you’d need to ‘clear your head’ for that long?”

Cerin froze. It couldn’t have possibly been three hours…but she had read through every single word of the Queen’s written documents, had paced the tiny hidden room as she tried and failed to synthesize a plan, and then she’d lost herself to the planetarium for who knows how long. She didn’t dare let her shock appear on her face. “My responsibilities as the Queen’s second in command outweigh yours. I have more to think about, regardless of what is or is not happening with the conquest.”

“You didn’t run off to ‘clear your head’ when those rumors of the surface-dweller uprising were circulating,” Terra retorted. “That’s the most serious incident we’ve ever had. Don’t tell me you’re doing this for no reason, because I won’t believe you.”

“How many times must I tell you it’s none of your business?” Cerin snapped, her patience wearing thin. “Drop it. That is an order.”

“I’m not looking to make an enemy of you,” Terra said evenly, holding out her hands, open-palmed. “Do we not both have the Queen and her militia’s best interests at heart? I can’t help but worry, seeing you this preoccupied.”

Cerin doubted ‘worry’ was the right word. She gave Terra her patented warning glower. “It is not your job to _worry_ about what may be happening above you. It _is_ your job to do as I say, and trust my judgement. If I felt you, or anyone for that matter, had reason to be concerned, I would inform you accordingly.” That was a lie.

“That’s a lie.” Terra’s neutral, if perhaps strained, affability began to slough off. “Every siren who’s old enough to know better is aware that something’s wrong with the Queen. She’s been botching the creation of lesser minions for years—have you _seen_ how many skeletons there are, skulking around the Palace, looking for the flesh they’ve never had? And don’t think we haven’t noticed that now the new sirens are being affected, too. It’s taking longer and longer for them to learn to control their magic—one of my students is two months old and she can barely move a damned pebble!”

She stopped, visibly collecting herself, drawing in a deep breath. “What will become of the sirens who are created a year from now? What’s happening to the Queen? My sisters and I, we remember being allowed in the throne room years ago, before the third generation. There must be a reason we’re barred from it now. Something is being withheld from us, and I’m quite eager to learn what it is.”

It took every modicum of Cerin’s self-discipline to keep her emotions from surfacing, though her shadow twitched warningly. “So what you’re telling me,” she said, trying to keep her words measured, “is that the Queen’s word isn’t good enough for you.”

Terra didn’t answer, but her face darkened. Cerin’s calm exterior crumpled in on itself. “Who do you think you are? The Queen’s orders are law, and above your scrutiny! She will not take well to these attempts to subvert her authority.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Terra’s voice was icy. “I came to you as an equal, in good faith—”

“That’s your own fault,” Cerin sneered. “We are not equals. Thinking otherwise is undermining the Queen’s own hierarchy—"

“So tell her, then!” Terra snapped. A tiny chunk of the pedestal Cerin was standing near broke off and bounced off her shoulder. “Tell her that her elite soldiers are questioning her choices, her lack of transparency. What will she do? Banish us? Execute us? We number hundreds, and you number two.” She stepped forward, her eyes glimmering through the dim light. “And even if she were able to get rid of us all. What will become of her army, her empire? It’ll crumble without us. She needs us far more than we need her.”

Cerin stared, her pulse quickening. How long had this treason been brewing right under her nose?

Terra seemed to recognize this, as she added, “Don’t look so shocked, now. I assure you that these _dangerous_ ideas haven’t yet reached most other sirens…not by my doing, anyway.”

“Yet?” Cerin couldn’t stop herself from repeating the word, but luckily, to her own ears her tone was too sharp to come from someone frightened.

“Word travels quite fast down here, Cerin. Rumors spread like disease…I think the entire Palace could know by tomorrow morning.”

Tiny wisps of faint purple mist were emanating from where Cerin’s tail met the ground. She swallowed hard, but her throat and mouth were still uncomfortably dry, so she choked on her words. “You—you blackmailing, backstabbing—"

“Careful with the name-calling, _Your Darkness.”_ Terra brandished the loathed nickname like she would a sword. The grin she wore was anything but pleasant. “I haven’t _done_ anything. Is it such a crime to hold a civil conversation like this?”

And she even had the audacity to play dumb. Cerin boiled, but nevertheless tried to rein herself in. The mist had faded, but Terra had already seen it, already knew how her words had shaken her. Already knew she was right. “The Queen will take my testimony over yours.”

“And if you snitch on me? The Queen will know this idea has reached your ears, too. She’s paranoid…perhaps rightfully so. Do you think your brainwashed loyalty is enough for her to give you the benefit of the doubt? Is that something you want to risk?”

Cerin’s quick wits abandoned her in her time of need. She would have sawed off her own tether for a plan, a rebuttal, anything, but no words came.

“All I want at this moment is the truth,” Terra said, her impersonal demeanor again descending upon her like a cloak. “To confirm my suspicions. I promise you I am not organizing a coup. But the future the Queen envisions for us, for herself, is not going to come to fruition. I want to be prepared, come what may.”

Cerin forced herself to breathe. Her mind’s eye proudly presented her an image of the last time she’d seen the Queen, and it was all she could do not to shudder in front of Terra. Damn it all, how could she have let herself be cornered so easily? “The truth” was just a formality at this point…but if Terra wanted it so badly, so be it.

“She’s ill,” she spat, as if the words were coated in venom. “Very ill. But she doesn’t know it—she thinks she’s still in control. A mere puppet convinced of her own autonomy—her mental faculties, her physical body, there’s hardly anything left of either—"

“Will she die?” The question was toneless, Terra’s face as expressive and malleable as the stone she derived her magic from.

“Probably.” Cerin ground her teeth, hating every word for its truthfulness.

“Then that’s what we must prepare for.” Terra inclined her head. “That’s all I needed. Thank you.”

In the next instant, she’d slipped away, vanishing into the shadows before Cerin could get in another word. 

She stood there, alone, for a very long time. The planetarium seemed much colder than before, the metal orbits settling with barely-perceptible creaks. She was all too aware of her tongue in her mouth, the dampness of her palms, the twisting of her gut. Her agitated magic tugged at her control, so she swung out her hand, and her shadow leaped to life. It met one of the stone pedestals with a crack, clawing at it until it crumbled away, leaving deep grooves like the territorial markings of some surface-dwelling beast. It soothed her powers a little, but not her mind.

She should turn in both Terra and herself. Admit to these underhanded plots, admit she was now complicit in them. The Queen would surely behead her, if she was lucky enough to avoid a more painful dispatching…but that was the price to pay for the safety of the empire and its monarch. And they would be safe, with her sacrifice. Wouldn’t they?

No. As loath as Cerin was to admit it, Terra had a point. The Queen was nothing without her Shadow Sirens, and in her current state, would never be able to replace any of them. And what would she do without Cerin’s protection, without her faithfully keeping her secrets? She would fall, and quickly. It was for the best that Cerin keep her mouth shut.

She gave one last look to the planetarium. No longer did it calm her, the great gouges in the nearest pedestal a nagging reminder of how sour this encounter had gone. Coming here again was out of the question. She grimaced at the bitter taste in her mouth. Then she vanished into the shadows herself, reappearing at her usual post outside the doors of the throne room, like she’d never been gone. The power of the Queen’s chosen magic throbbed in the darkest corners of her mind, through the walls, and she felt it like some gargantuan creature breathing down her neck. Her vision cut through the shadows enshrouding the far end of the hallway. She was alone, she almost always was…but she never felt like it.

Within a week, the first Shadow Siren of the seventh generation was born. The newborn siren was especially tiny, her pulse weak, her breathing far too slow. The Queen had hissed, “Ice,” as Cerin retrieved her from the shadows, but even for an ice siren, her body was…cold. It sapped the heat from Cerin’s hands as she held her, and the chill settled in Cerin’s stomach, palpitating with the same rhythm as the Queen’s magic in her brain.

Cerin risked a glance upward at her maker’s face and fought off the usual revulsion that surfaced whenever she caught sight of it. The Shadow Queen’s skin was sallow and thin as paper, her body emaciated, her limbs overtaken by pulsating shadows that dissolved her flesh. It had consumed her legs, confining her to her throne, and the top half of her face, so she was blind. But she could still somehow sense things through the magic that ate away at her. She didn’t care what she lost, what she was losing.

Cerin could only look into the blackened swatch of mutilated skin where the Queen’s eyes once were for so long. The more she stared at this abyss painted across the face of her creator, the more she felt it yawning inside her, too. She averted her eyes, squeezing them shut, but not before seeing the Queen’s thin lips twisted in a deep frown. The Queen didn’t emote much anymore…this look of utter dismay that Cerin had only seen for a second burned itself into her eyelids.

_It’s over. Even she must know it._

“Her name,” the Queen rasped, “is Beldam. Leave me now.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Cerin spoke quietly, but the volume of her voice compared to the Queen’s barely-perceptible wheezing made her want to flinch. She didn’t dare open her eyes until she’d turned her back on the throne, and didn’t dare breathe until the doors of the throne room had closed behind her.

The freezing newborn gave a low whine and Cerin’s heart stopped, having forgotten about it—her—entirely. Her arms were numb from the chill the young siren exuded. She made sure she was alone in the hallway before she allowed herself to shiver.

It wasn’t her job to care for the infant sirens; all she did was pass them off to the team of Dark Wizzerds responsible for making sure none of them killed themselves or each other while learning how to function. As they grew, the second generation, Terra and her sisters, would teach them how to use their elemental magic. But Cerin doubted this one would get that far, between her labored breathing and the dark pressure she’d sensed from her earlier. It now achieved a discordant harmony with the rippling of corrupted magic that haunted Cerin every moment she spent outside these doors. The Queen had never birthed a Shadow Siren this small, this frail…this twisted. “Beldam” would have the privilege of being the first ever to die in infancy.

“It’s over,” she murmured. The newborn gave another feeble whimper, as if agreeing. “We are all as good as dead.”


End file.
